The Evolution of Evolution
by Punk Vampire
Summary: A look into the lives of our favorite mutants after high school... (Chapter Six added July 6, 2004)
1. Troubles

Todd Tolensky lay slumped over on his arms at the bar counter on a Sunday night, drooling dazedly as he slipped in and out of consciousness. His glass of scotch sat within reach of his hand, and he would grope around for it every so often, so drunk that he just downed glass after glass easily. The bartender considered cutting him off for the evening, but he was paying, so he tried his best to ignore the young man in the jumpsuit that read "Hammond Plumbing Co." on the back.  
  
Todd took a crumpled piece of paper clumsily from his pocket, spreading it out slowly in front of him. He couldn't even see straight, but he knew what the letter said. He'd read it ten times over. It had been the replacement for his usual reason to drink.  
  
It was an invitation to a reunion at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters the following weekend.  
  
The young man once called Toad stumbled from his barstool, tripping over himself as he made his way out of the establishment to his truck, the paper wadded in his hand. He stumbled and hit the door of a Neon hard, falling to the ground. Lying on his back, memories of his days with the Brotherhood flashed before his eyes; and when they faded, the stars high above him shone more brilliantly than he'd ever seen. After a few botched attempts, he stood up, and for the first time in the five years since he had graduated, Todd smiled. His feet had carried him to his truck without as much as another misstep. His smile widened to a grin as he murmured, "Wanda." Then he threw up all over the pavement. 


	2. The Holiday Spirit

"And we're on in three...two...one..." The produced waved a hand, signaling the cameraman. The broadcast began.  
  
"Hello, Bayville! I'm meteorologist Lance Alvers with your weather report for this evening. Clouds have been gathering high above the city over the course of the day, and we've got an eighty percent chance of snow tonight, thanks to the cold front that's moved in over the course of the last few days. Temperatures will drop around the upper twenties to low thirties for the rest of the week. I'm Lance Alvers, and I'll be back tomorrow morning with your weather update. This is Channel 10, WBVW, and now, it's time for the seven o'clock news."  
  
The producer made his signal, and the camera switched, covering the news desk and the anchors, ready for another evening of Bayville happenings. Lance loosened his tie, heaving a sigh as he grabbed his briefcase and suit jacket, ready to go home after a long day of work.  
  
The station manager acknowledged his leaving with a slight nod, and he waved as he left the building, walking into the chill night air toward his car. Christmas was right around the corner; the school kids were out for the holidays already. The snow reminded him of his old nickname. He smiled a little as he unlocked the Camry. When he'd gotten situated and the heater turned on, Lance paused momentarily. Looking around furtively, he glanced back at the news station. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as he concentrated.  
  
There was a low rumbling as the ground around him trembled, and he started to laugh, ending his momentary fun. That would make tonight's news a little more interesting.  
  
On the way home, Lance couldn't help but let his mind wander. Christmas was a time of the year that left his feelings mixed. He had no family to communicate with, no one to call excitedly with tidings of a joyful holiday. He didn't even talk to his old Brotherhood friends from his days in high school. Christmas was awfully lonely when you were Lance Alvers, he thought.  
  
But after parking the car in his driveway and leaning back against the seat for a moment, he realized how much he loved the snow and the quiet and feeling of togetherness. He hurried inside to the warmth and comfort of his house.  
  
"Honey!" He called as he hung his suit jacket over the coat rack in the front hall. "Sweetheart, where are you?"  
  
Kitty Alvers peeked her head out from the kitchen. "Oh, hey!" She said, and his heart leapt. "I'm busy in here, come talk to me." He heard the mixer start as he took off shoes.  
  
"So," Lance said to her over the din, "is that for me, or is that for someone's Christmas party?" The Christmas season was obviously one of the most hectic times of the year for Kitty's catering service, but surprisingly, he saw her much more often during the current season than at others.  
  
"This is my last one for the week," Kitty yelled to him, "Then I'm taking off for a while."  
  
"Really?" He shouted, the noise of the mixer dying as she shut it off.  
  
"Geez, hon, you don't have to scream." He laughed. She smiled at him, wiping the back of her wrist across her cheek, smearing flour on her face. "By the way, there's something on the table you might want to read."  
  
He picked up a folded piece of paper that was lying on top of its opened envelope. He turned the envelope over, eyes widening at the address. Then he scanned the letter. Looking toward Kitty, he tried to ask her something, but she turned on the mixer, absorbed with her baking.  
  
An invitation for the two of them to the Xavier Institute? Would his old friends be there? Wouldn't everyone he'd known in high school be there?  
  
Maybe there would be people to spend the holidays with after all. 


	3. Window Shopping

Amara Aquilla, princess of Nova Roma, walked down the cold, snow-covered streets of Bayville. She hadn't felt much like a princess lately. She hadn't felt that way for some time, but she could always remember where it had begun.  
  
It all started when she married Bobby.  
  
For a short time, she had been Amara Drake, but when Bobby was gone, she had reverted to her maiden name. Her daughter Morgan was skipping next to her, swinging her small arms. Whether she had loved Bobby or not, Morgan looked like him; she was a constant reminder of their union.  
  
The story of Bobby's fate was a long one. Iceman had picked up on dealing drugs, primarily homemade crystal meth, and dropped out of high school during his junior year. Throughout his time at the Xavier Institute, he'd had his eyes set on Jubilation Lee, and he convinced her with almost no effort to leave the institute with him once he made enough money peddling drugs to pay rent on an apartment for the two of them around his prime business district.  
  
Within the next four years, they had ended up with three children with mental complexes because of their parents' drug use. Not that it mattered. Jubilee had been shot by a rival dealer and killed on accident; he intended to shoot Bobby, but missed due to the fact that he was stoned at the time. The kids had pretty much been left to their own devices while Bobby continued his business, looking for a way to make enough money to avenge Jubilee's death.  
  
Then Amara came into Bobby's life.  
  
It had been a whirlwind romance of sorts, and for a junkie, Bobby wooed awfully well. But of course, the relationship had ended much like his with Jubilee. Amara had made it a point to graduate high school first, of course, and she never participated in his recreational drug use. They had one daughter, Morgan, who was the only child without a mental disorder.  
  
Amara smiled as the wind whipped at her hair, making it swirl around her face, her rag-tag bunch of children following her. Bobby had been gunned down by the dealer who had killed Jubilee, thus ending the drug feud that she had never wanted to be a part of. Morgan had been the first to see him lying dead on the floor of the apartment, his skull reduced to sharp, fragmented remains, brain smattered across the cheap carpeting.  
  
"Moooommy!" Robby was saying, tugging on the back of her tattered coat. She returned to the present and realized she was about to be hit by a car. She stumbled a little back onto the curb, thanking Robby for paying attention.  
  
They were standing in front of an electronics store, and Rachael ran up to the window, squealing in excitement at the sight of all the televisions, showing different things. After pushing the button to get the crosswalk to work, Amara walked toward the store, reaching for Rachael's hand.  
  
"No, no, honey; come on."  
  
"Look, Mommy!" Rachael was watching one screen in particular. Amara followed the girl's upward gaze.  
  
There, in the top right hand screen, was a man wearing a suit and flashy tie, grinning from ear to ear and obviously hosting a game show. Amara's eyes widened.  
  
"Who is that, Mommy? Do you know him?" Morgan asked when she, Robby, and Dana joined them at the store window.  
  
"Why, I do believe it's St. John Allardyce." 


	4. Straight From The Gallon

Scott was drifting in and out of consciousness as his head rested on his hands, his pencil tossed aside. He had been inspired suddenly and some two hours later, he finished at last. As ahead as he was of his schedule, he couldn't help but want to stay on top of things.  
  
Slipping out of his chair, he rubbed his face. Slowly he began walking out of the study, stretching. Careful not to tumble down the stairs, he tried to be quiet in order to prevent Jean's waking.  
  
Scott crept to the fridge, opening the door and letting the cool light spill across his body as he reached inside. He pulled the gallon jug of milk out, glanced around to make sure that Jean hadn't snuck downstairs to catch him, and then took a long drink. She hated it when he drank straight from the gallon, but the more she hated it, the more he enjoyed doing it. It had long since become a habit. He put the milk back in its place and yawned. Quickly, he climbed the stairs again, turning across the hall from the study into the bedroom.  
  
Jean slept soundly as Scott crawled into bed beside her, sighing as he snuggled into his pillow and settled his arm around his wife. She turned over, resting her head in the crook of his neck. He tenderly ran his fingers through her long, red hair, rubbing her neck with his fingertips.  
  
She stirred a little and kissed his chin, mumbling, "You need a shave, Scott..."  
  
He laughed and kissed her forehead. "How sweet of you to wake up and notice."  
  
"Did you get your comic finished, babe?"  
  
"Yeah, it's all done. I wouldn't have come to bed so late without finishing it."  
  
They were drifting off when Jean kicked him underneath the covers.  
  
"Ow! What was that for?" He grumbled. She laughed and cuddled closer to him.  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you not to drink out of the gallon?"  
  
He smiled into the darkness surrounding them, putting his arms completely around her. 


	5. A Delivery

The doorbell rang.  
  
A woman stepped into the living room, drying her hands with a towel. The bell rang a second time just as she reached the door. Her hand wrapped around the door knob and gave it a turn.  
  
"Hello there, ma'am," Roberto Da Costa said, glancing at the receipt in his free hand. "I have an order for a large pepperoni pizza here."  
  
"Oh, goodness!" She exclaimed. "I was washing dishes and forgot to grab my purse. Do you mind stepping inside for a moment while I go get it?" She rushed through the living room to the stairs and disappeared.  
  
Roberto walked in, closing the front door behind him. He set the pizza box on the coffee table near the couch and glanced around at the neatly-kept household.  
  
"Excuse me," she called from upstairs.  
  
"Ma'am?" he responded politely.  
  
"What's your name?" Her voice sounded closer.  
  
"Roberto," he replied.  
  
"Well, Roberto," she said from the foot of the stairs, dressed in a black silk teddy. She approached him, hips swaying gently. Then she reached out and slid a finger down his chest. She leaned in, full lips brushing against his. "I don't like to eat alone."  
  
"Cut!" Pietro Maximoff shouted, sliding from his director's chair. He stormed over to the two of them. Pointing at the woman, he said, "Misty, come on, baby doll. It needs to be sexier, more seductive. I know you can do it better than that, sweet cheeks."  
  
She smiled. "Sure thing, Pietro. Anything for you." As she turned to go change clothes again, he slapped her smartly on the ass. He whirled to Roberto.  
  
"Come on, man, where are you? Normally we can get one take with you, but today, you've been all over the place! This is the fourth scene we've had to reshoot! Where's your focus?"  
  
Roberto sighed and reached into his pants pocket, procuring a crumpled piece of paper that had been folded into a small square. "Here," he muttered, and held it out to Pietro. Annoyed, Pietro didn't check himself and snatched the paper from Roberto at blinding speed. He recomposed himself for a moment before opening it and reading.  
  
Slowly, he grinned. "A reunion, huh?" He laughed, handing the paper back to Roberto, who slipped it into his pocket again. "Beautiful. Just beautiful." 


	6. Bad Habits

Rogue's eyes stared blankly at the clock on the desk. The artificial green light bathed her gloved hands. Endless stacks of sketches and patterns surrounded her in the darkness of her studio. Cluttered desks with vacant chairs filled the room. Ghosts of light danced in her blurred, strained vision.  
  
A sudden knock on the door startled her. "Come in," she called, spinning in her chair to face the entrance.  
  
A blonde head poked inside, glancing around. "Are you still here?" Evan asked. His eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark well enough to see her yet. There was a clatter as his foot hit the trashcan near the door.  
  
"Yeah, it's me," she answered, stretching. "Why are you still here, too?"  
  
He shut the door behind him. "Because I figured you were here worrying, like always. You stay late before shows. Are you nervous?" He crossed the room slowly, feeling his way toward her.  
  
"No," she responded with a sigh. "I guess I just think too much, is all."  
  
"About...?" he pressed as he sat down on top of her desk.  
  
"You'd better not be sitting on anything important."  
  
"You're stalling," he replied, wiggling on top of her paperwork just for the sake of annoying her.  
  
"Always need to piss somebody off, don't you?"  
  
"Of course," he grinned. "Now tell me what you're thinking about so hard. It's almost nine and I'm meeting someone for drinks."  
  
"New boyfriend?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"...Not really." Even in the dark, he looked sheepish. He shrugged. "But enough about me already. Are you going to tell me or not?"  
  
"Who is he? Would I know him?"  
  
"Come on, Rogue! I don't want to talk about it right now!"  
  
"Yeah? Well what if I don't want to talk about what's on my mind, either?" She blurted, frustrated with him.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Rogue! You don't even know what happened to the guy! You hated him to begin with!"  
  
"What are you talking about?" She lied, bewildered but angry that he knew what she was talking about. "And besides, I thought you were a make-up artist, not a psychic."  
  
He slid off her desk, scattering papers and samples of fabric. "Fine. Don't tell me. But do yourself a favor, Rogue." He walked to the door, turning the knob.  
  
"And what would that be, you condescending prick?"  
  
"Forget about Remy LeBeau." He slammed the door behind him, making the glass shudder.  
  
"You know what, Evan Daniels? Fuck you!" she shouted after him. "I don't need your pity, you queer! I don't need your goddamned advice!" Her voice cracked. "I don't even need you for the show tomorrow! I can do every bit of your job and mine! Fuck you, you selfish little whore!" Her curses echoed in her ears.  
  
Rogue twisted back to her messy desk and glowing clock. She rummaged through drawers, jerking them open and slamming them shut until she found a pack of cigarettes. Shoving papers aside, she snatched up her lighter and stood, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. Storming toward the door, she glared at the painted "Fashions by Rogue" on the glass. Sticking an unlit cigarette between her lips, her foot flew forward, shattering the glass upon contact. Shards glittered at her through her tears as she reached into the small trashcan. Crumpling the envelope with the return address marked "Xavier Institute" into her pocket, she flung open the door and left. 


End file.
